AN ELEGY ON Her GRACE ELIZABETH Duchess of Ormond, Who died july the 21st 1684.  
By E. A. M. A. of Trin. Coll. Dubls.  
In the SAVOY, Printed by Tho. Newcomb. 1684.   

AN ELEGY ON THE Duchess of Ormond, etc.  

FOrbear, vain Muse, to vent thy Passion here,  
Thou canst not offer one ingenuous Tear;  
Nor mayst thou hope thy unregarded Verse  
Can have admittance to this Sacred Hearse.  
Yet Silence here would be Ingratitude,  
'Tis then more pardonable to be rude.   

If Men of Sense and Fancy more sublime  
Condemn th' unpolished meanness of thy Rhyme;  
This just Excuse for that Disorder show,  
Tell them thy Thoughts are Discomposed and Thou.  
Less Mourners may Methodically weep,  
Thy o'er swollen Grief within no Bounds will keep.  
Then venture to bewail thy rigid Fate,  
And with the Saint departed thus expostulate.   

Ah! Why so soon didst thou resign thy Breath,  
And leave the World Impoverished by thy Death?  
Didst thou, to taste some Heavenly Bliss unknown,  
Destroy our pleasure to increase thine own?  
Ah no, thou knewst no such inferior Ends,  
Thy nobler Aim still was t' oblige thy Friends;  
For them thou hast thy Best Enjoyments given,  
And mightst a while defer thy flight to Heaven.  
For no Bliss there to thee could Foreign prove  
Thy Conversation was so much Above  
And thou enjoyd'st of Heaven so large a store,  
That Consummation scarce could give thee more.   

Thy Love soared high, above all Human Aim,  
Angels scarce boast a more Exalted Flame;  
Scarce to their God more Frequent Homage pay,  
Nor thou less Serious, less Devout than they;  
On his Great Work thou didst thy time bestow,  
In offering Prayers above, and doing Good below.   

Nor was the Case which did this Jewel hold,  
Made of Course Earth cast in a Common Mould;  
But suited to the Beauty of thy Mind,  
Thy Body too was polished and refined.  
Thy Face so Heavenly, we believed it still  
Not Human, till we found it passable.  
Till Envious Time, to lessen our regard,  
By stealth the lovely Frontispiece impaired.   

Yet Time designed this Injury in vain,  
Beauty amidst the Ruins did remain,  
And taught us, by its Splendour in Decay,  
To judge what its Perfection could display.   

But Heaven displeased to see that Work abused  
In forming which such Wondrous Skill was used,  
As if the Artist chiefly had desired▪  
To have his Power in this Rare Piece admired,  
Dissolved the Fabric, to restore it so,  
That it no Ruin, no Decay shall know.  
But Lasting and Impregnable shall be  
Not only against Time, but vast Eternity.   

Ah! then forbear, mistaken Muse, in vain  
In thy Hibernian Dialect to complain.  
Demand no more why the Bright Soul is fled  
And left our Joys, like her loved Body, dead:  
But if thy Flight can tract her through the Air,  
Follow and see her great Reception there.   

Angels in Choirs crowd the new Guest to meet,  
And straw their Palms beneath her welcome Feet;  
The meaner Orders placed on either hand  
In double Ranks, to view, and guard her, Stand;  
While Seraphims present a Robe of Light  
Studded with Stars, and as the Sunbeams bright:  
Now comes a noble Troop, in Heaven well known,  
A Troop of Works which she on Earth had done;  
Of Prayers untold a very numerous Train;  
For oft she used to pray, and ne'er in vain.  
Mortified Lusts, and Passions well subdued  
Which ne'er till now durst to her Sight intrude  
Repentant Sighs, and Tears in Bottles kept;  
For Heaven exhaled each precious drop she wept:  
Besides a multitude of Virtues more,  
Which loudly knock at the Eternal Door,  
Make way, for Ormond's Duchess comes, they cry,  
And at the well-known name, the Locks strait open fly.   

Here wait those Saints to whom her Womb gave birth,  
But coveted by Heaven, soon snatched from Earth.   

Ah! that among their number yet we see  
The Good, the Great, the Glorious OSSORY!  
But he was brought to entertain Her here,  
Lest, without Him, the Bliss imperfect should appear.  
Yet this great comfort he has left behind,  
Th' exact Resemblance of his Generous Mind;  
A Second OSSORY, whose blooming Youth  
Gives early hope of a successful growth.  
In whom th' admiring World does gladly see  
ORMOND and OSSORY in Epitome.  
May he of ARRAN's Virtue too partake,  
Who would not Honour for Applause forsake,  
But bravely ventured to declare his Sense  
In the behalf of injured Innocence;  
Choosing to bear th' Aspersions of the Crowd  
Rather than slain his Soul with guiltless Blood.   

But 〈◊〉 these Hero's Fame to celebrate,  
And think on ORMOND the disconsolate;  
That worthy Husband of this Virtuous Wife,  
The noble partner of her Love and Life.   

He, like a Body, when Tormentors Art  
Hath from the living Fibres torn the Heart,  
Finds in himself no Signs of Life remain,  
But the worst Symptom, a deep Sense of pain.   

Bring Lenitives to his excessive Grief;  
And if thou findest they fail to give relief,  
Tell him how dear a price 'tis like to cost,  
Tell him—  
His Master's Interest will in him be lost.  
Tell him, his Life he to his sovereign owes,  
And must not, but by his Command, expose:  
These Reasons will affect his Loyal Sense,  
For he was ever all Obedience;  
To Charles' Name he will due reverence give,  
And for his Service condescend to live.